


'Til The Beat Comes Out (Who's The Heratic, Child?)

by pansexualorgana (MaximumMarygold)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: An AU of an AU, Fae & Fairies, Fae Alphonse Elric, Faery Alphonse Elric, Faery Edward Elric, Homunculus Project AU, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, The Homunculus Project, WIP, author is having a midlife crisis at 24 its gonna be fun, fae Edward Elric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/pansexualorgana
Summary: A string of seemingly unconnected murders in the heart of Central all share the same signature -- nine bodies deep and Roy Mustang's unit gets assigned help from the supposedly nonexistent Laboratory Five in the form of a homunculus.Agent Seven, or Envy as they prefer to be called, is decidedly not what they were expecting."Ed wasn’t sure what he was expecting; he’d had to sign a forty six page waiver to even be allowed in the same room as the person behind the glass. Agent Seven of The Homunculus Project.According to the briefing, he was staring at the most volatile and dangerous being in existence.To Ed, they just looked sad. Grief stricken.Lonely.There was something in the wane paleness of their face and the bruising under their violet eyes that he could relate with, somewhere deep beneath his ribs. A gaping, monolithic longing; like they were reaching out for something dangled just out of their reach.Something that they craved more than anything." "
Relationships: Edward Elric/Envy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. the color of our planet from far far away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Sins of the Father](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9304550) by [f_imaginings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_imaginings/pseuds/f_imaginings). 



> lmao i know mar what are you doing writing this and not bound to break  
> its a funny story where my brother started watching fma  
> and i remembered how much i love envy
> 
> Literally an AU of [f_imaginings'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_imaginings/pseuds/f_imaginings) AU  
> [The Sins Of The Father](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9304550) because I just fell in love with The Homunculus Project AU and I n e e d e d to play with it

It was a change from the sterile white of their usual holding cell; being surrounded by so much blue. Blue lips. Blue veins. Even the pale puff of their breathing in the air seemed tinged with the color. 

They’d been on the table so long that they’d lost all hope of ever being warm again -- they’d forgotten what it felt like. 

‘Endurance testing’ was just a way of saying ‘torture’ and making it sound scientific. 

The lab monkeys encased them in flames, once. That had been. Terrible. But at least it had been quick. Not this fucking _limbo_ where their body managed be numb and hurt down to their bones at the same time. 

It wasn’t all bad, though. The tips of their fingers had turned a rather fetching shade of purple, far past the point of frostbite in a human, and if they lifted their stiff neck just a little they could see it and admire the hue. And they’d always liked the snow; they could remember from Before. The wonder of a sparkling field of pure white; of delicate flakes catching on their eyelashes.

Hell, even the shivering had stopped somewhere around the time the scientist’s tinny voice had rung from the speakers, informing them that the temperature in the room they’d been locked in had reached a brisk negative twenty.

Their first reaction was to riot. To wiggle and hiss out death threats with all of the venom they could pull from the parts of their brain that preferred a more serpentine form. Shifting was impossible -- the lab monkeys had made goddamn sure of that the first time they’d almost escaped a century and a half ago. 

Eventually, it had become so cold they’d had to stop struggling if they wanted to keep the skin on their wrists and ankles. 

It would grow back, but Envy had never liked pain.

So it was easier to just not move at all. To just lie there and stare at the frosty ceiling and count their ghostly gasping breaths -- so far they were at nearly fifteen thousand (fourteen thousand, eight hundred, and ninety five). By their quick math, that was about twenty five hours. Give or take. 

It was fine. 

They’d promised Envy could see her when it was all over. And not just a grainy photograph or footage from her cell. They’d be able to see her face to face. Hug her. 

So they grit their teeth until they cracked inside their head and clenched their numb fingers and counted their breaths.

Fourteen thousand, eight hundred, and ninety six.

Fourteen thousand, eight hundred, and ninety seven.

Fourteen thousand, eight hundred, and ninety eight.

  
  
  


Nine bodies in six weeks was a little _much_ and Edward Elric would be the first to admit it. In fact, he’d also be the second, third, and fourth due to his propensity for complaining about everything that inconvenienced him until everyone else around him was considering investing in either earplugs (in the case of, say, Lieutenant Havoc) or duct tape (as Colonel Roy Mustang would prefer).

No one knew how Alphonse managed to live with him. Maybe the lack of ears? Could he just remove the head of his armor and hide it in a soundproof chest until Ed eventually tired himself out? 

But, in the case of Central’s newest and boldest serial killer, even Al was looking a little worn out (According to Maes Hughes, anyway. And he was not very forthcoming about how a suit of armor could appear _tired_. Everyone was just going to have to shut up and trust him. He was a father, now, after all. He knew things.).

The desks in the bullpen had been shoved against walls and piled on top of each other. Cubicles folded flat and melded into the floor courtesy of some quick alchemy. The entire team seemed to have given up any pretense of being functional adults with a healthy work-life balance, normal diet, or ounce of professionalism; instead, they spread out along the floor like teenagers cramming for an exam.

There was paper everywhere -- spread out around them and pinned to the walls and, in an interesting mosaic courtesy of the younger Elric, hanging from the ceiling, connected to each other by red strings and post-it notes.

Even the illustrious Riza Hawkeye had settled against the wall, perched on a cushion she’d pilfered from the break room sofa.

Cardboard coffee cups littered every inch of space not occupied by person or paper, making Team Mustang’s Club House a certifiable minefield. 

It was Breda’s turn to nap, his head pillowed on his arms and his uniform jacket spread over his torso like a blanket; the occasional shout for someone to pass a report or to confirm a detail went in one snoozing ear and out the other. He’d long since passed the point of exhaustion where anything less than a kick to the ribs was going to wake him. 

Fuery had actually left the room, having drawn the short straw and been sent on the latest in a long string of coffee runs, a list in hand of his units’ particular orders -- not that he needed it. His team were all creatures of habit. And by that, he meant they were all picky as hell.

Like every other coffee run in the unit’s history, he’d get an almond milk latte for Riza; as many shots of espresso as they could fit in the largest cup they had for Mustang (who had looked worryingly dead behind the eyes as he’d reminded Fuery of his order); Falman wanted a flat white; and Ed and Havoc had decided that the six-shot, coconut milk white mocha reigned supreme over all other coffee orders.

Fuery himself just wanted hot chocolate; Breda would be asleep until right before the next scheduled run so they didn’t bother with him this go around; and poor Al couldn’t drink anything. He just had to stay alert out of sheer stubborn will.

The Elric’s were mumbling to themselves in the corner farthest from Mustang’s office. He’d been in there on the phone with whoever the fuck for the better part of the hour and Riza, knowing exactly how loud Ed could and would get, had banished him before he had the chance to interrupt.

Or eavesdrop. She really was going to rip his ear right off the next time she caught him with it pressed to the colonel’s door. 

She flicked her eyes up from her report, catching Ed’s and narrowing them until he turned red and looked away. Just for good measure.

With a smirk like a particularly content cat, she went back to her file.

They were working with less than peanuts. There was no physical evidence left behind, no alchemical trace for them to follow. No motive. No _pattern_. The only thing linking the victims was the cause of death.

They’d all been skewered through the radial, brachial, and femoral artery, left alone to bleed out before their bodies were mutilated post mortem, the murderer had seen fit and just to remove all of their teeth, their left eye, and their heart; the latter being ripped straight from their chest judging by the positioning of the ribs.

It didn’t make any sense. 

The first victim had been a bartender, the second a visiting dignitary (the fuhrer was still trying to smooth _that_ one out). 

Three and four were military officers with no connection to the other, even in passing or through other members of their unit. 

Five was a prostitute. 

Number six, a musician who played mostly at small venues across the city.

Seven, a low ranking state alchemist.

Victim eight was a stay-at-home mother of two.

The latest, and most worrying, was Brigadier General Almsworth; The Cloudburst Alchemist (‘Lightning’ had already been taken when he’d been awarded the title). He’d been killed in his home while his wife and daughter slept on, unaware.

Needless to say, with the diplomat, Almsworth, and the general sense of panic that the press was mass producing, Mustang’s higher ups were _on their ass_.

Ed gulped down the last of the previous run’s coffee, long since cold and forgotten, and stared intently at the words on the page in front of him, hoping maybe he could scowl them into making sense.

It hadn’t worked so far, but there was always hope.

“What is the significance of the _teeth_ ,” he asked no one in particular; “eyes and heart, sure. Every serial killer and their great aunt have removed their victim’s eyes and heart. But teeth?”

“Have you seen today’s headline?” Havoc asked, twitching his head towards the newest addition to the Bulletin Board That Had Once Been A Wall.

**_The Tooth Fairy Strikes Again!_ **

**_Amestris’ Killer Leaving A Bloody Path Through Central!_ **

“Tooth Fairy?” Al repeated, and never in all the world had a suit of armor looked so unimpressed.

“I haven’t found any quarters at the crime scenes,” Ed grumbled, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “How long is Mustang going to be on the damn phone? We have an investigation going on.”

“A fact of which I am well aware, Fullmetal.” Colonel Roy Mustang looked remarkably well put together for a man who hadn’t left the office in three days, especially when compared to his subordinates, “Someone wake Breda. We’re going on a field trip.”

“A field trip?” Al lifted his head, “In a time like this?”

“No worries, Alphonse,” Roy said wryly as Havoc dug the toe of his boot into Breda’s side, “I don’t think anyone is going to be enjoying this outing anymore than they would a root canal.”

“Oh, wow, Colonel, don’t get us so excited. It might look unprofessional.” Drawled Falman, dragging a hand through his hair and pushing himself to his feet. 

It was a slow process, with a lot of groaning and joints popping, but everyone eventually made it up off of the floor and set about straightening their uniforms and combing out their hair to the best of their abilities. 

“You need a hand with your braid, Ed?” Havoc asked, leaning against the wall to wait for Fuery’s return; the last time Fullmetal had shattered his automail he’d been the one the kid turned to with a reluctant plea for help. 

“Nah,” Ed grunted, shaking out his hair and setting about the quick task of re-plaiting, “Winry tweaked the fine motor control on the automail last time Al and I visited; I could do this in my sleep, now.”

“That I’d like to see,” Havoc shot back, reaching out one arm to pat Ed on top of his golden head and receiving a swat for his effort. His easy grin didn’t waver.

For all of his huffing and scowling, Fullmetal was a good kid. Stubborn as hell with a mouth to match, but loyal and compassionate; good in all the ways that counted.

“Do not assault my Officer, Elric,” Mustang called. He didn’t even turn his head to look. 

“Does he have eyes in the back of his head?” Ed asked the void. 

“Yes,” Mustang replied, his spine straightening as the door opened, heralding Fuery’s return, “finally.” He reached out and plucked his cup of rocket fuel from the carrier in the sergeant’s hands, “Distribute the coffee and then gather your things. We’ve been summoned.”

“I thought it was a field trip,” Breda said with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head and not quite managing to look completely awake despite all the work he’d put into trying to un-rumple himself. 

“Summoned _where_?” Ed asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously, his expression scarily similar to Riza’s if anyone in the unit wanted to stop and think about it.

They didn’t. 

Roy’s expression shifted just slightly, barely a twitch, really, but it was enough to convey the severity of the situation, “Lieutenant General Grumman pulled some strings for us. He seems to think it will help.”

“Thinks what will help?” Riza spoke this time, calm and shrewd, daring her superior to try and evade the question again with nothing more than the tilt of her chin and the slant of her eyes. 

“There has been a. Project. Active for a while now.” Mustang seemed to be picking his words very carefully, which did exactly nothing to calm his team’s nerves. Hell, the colonel looked nervous which was. Bad. On so many levels. “They believe that assigning us an asset from this project would greatly assist our investigation.”

“Keep talking in circles, Mustang, and I’m going to kick in your teeth,” Ed warned; something felt _wrong_. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end; his very bones felt like they were vibrating.

For once not bothering to admonish Ed for his insubordination, Mustang took a deep breath, “We are going to Laboratory 5, on the outskirts of central.”

“Laboratory five doesn’t exist,” Falman piped up, his mouth twisted into something sort of like a frown, “It’s a myth, spread by conspiracy theorists and wackjobs to discredit the military.”

“That,” Mustang paused for dramatic flair, because as uncomfortable as he was, he was still a bastard, “is what we want people to think.”

  
  
  
  


“ _Where is she_?” Envy was screaming. They had been for a while now. Pounding their fists against several feet of glass specifically designed to withstand their overpowered blows. 

They’d promised.

They’d _promised_.

If Envy was good during the endurance testing they could see Lust. 

That was the _deal_. 

The fucking lab monkeys had kept them in there for nearly three days. They’d _earned_ the right to see her.

“Agent, there have been--”

“If you say the ‘complications’ _one_ more time I am going to rip your intestines out through your _ears_ you son of a bitch,” Envy snarled at the monkey on the other side of their glass prison, “Tell me where my sister is!” They punctuated their demand with another smack to the glass. 

“You will be permitted to see Agent Five after--”

“After _what_?” The urge to shift coiled inside of Envy like the snake they longed to become; the bracelet that nullified their powers hadn’t been removed after their frozen body had been dragged back into their ‘room’. They were powerless.

The monkey opened his mouth. 

The door behind him opened.

Envy no longer cared what the monkey had to say. The door had _opened_. That door didn’t open; that door led outside. That door stayed firmly shut unless they were going out on assignment.

“You _fucker_ ,” they growled, clenching their fists, willing the goddamn bracelets to malfunction; praying the glass would finally, _finally_ break when they threw themself at it with all of their strength. 

Anything. A crack. A chip. Anything that would impart just how _done_ with the whole thing they were. They were done being used. Done being locked up; chained like a dog. Experimented on, and watched, and tortured in the name of their fucked up science.

“I am not going anywhere until you _let me see her_ !” They screeched, their shoulder actually aching with how hard they’d hit the wall, “Take your assignment and shove it up your _dickhole_!” 

“They seem fun,” the little blonde one who had just entered the observation room drawled, drawing Envy’s eyes to him and earning a sneer; every one of their too-sharp teeth on display.

“Watch it, pipsqueak.” Envy hissed, slinking back, curling themself smaller to seem less intimidating out of habit-- if they were too much, they were made an example of.

They’d just gotten the feeling in their fingers back and their veins were still starkly, dangerously blue. They couldn't afford to be put back in the freezer. Or the kiln. 

The stretcher, the box, the lab.

They just wanted to see Lust.

See her.

Touch her.

Never let her out of their sight again.

She didn't deserve this life.

None of them did.

Just leave them alone.

Let them go home.

Wherever that was.

Not locked behind glass and being pimped out to the highest bidder every couple of years and left to stagnate in agony for the rest of eternity.

They, whatever they were, were made for so much more.


	2. these mishaps you bubble wrap when you've no idea what you're like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh hi this is shorter and probably choppier than id like but like straight up no bullshit my brother died on the 5th and i just wanted to get something out so this was just a fuckin nightmare of like 4 words at a time so. 
> 
> what can ya do

“Watch it, pipsqueak.” 

Ed wasn’t sure what he was expecting; he’d had to sign a forty six page waiver to even be allowed in the same room as the person behind the glass; referred to only as Agent Seven. 

According to the briefing, he was staring at the most volatile and dangerous being in existence.

To Ed, they just looked sad. Grief-stricken. 

Lonely.

There was something in the wane paleness of their face and the bruising under their violet eyes that he could relate with, somewhere deep beneath his ribs. A gaping, monolithic longing; like they were reaching out for something dangled just out of their reach.

Something that they craved more than anything.

They peeked out from under the heavy, dark curtain of their hair, expression shifting from something dark and angry into casual nonchalance. Like putting on a mask. Like they hadn’t just been shrieking and slapping at the glass that separated them from the man in the lab coat.

“Who the  _ fuck  _ are you calling a pipsqueak, Palm Tree.” Ed snapped back, just to keep up appearances. 

No need to make the team think he was rattled two seconds into meeting their ‘secret weapon’. Because he absolutely was not. Rattled. Not a bit.

He was  _ Fullmetal _ ; he didn’t get rattled. Slightly surprised? Maybe. Caught off guard? Occasionally. Rattled? Bitch, please.

Eyes the color of amethyst widened behind emerald tinged hair (and what the fuck was the point of wearing a headband that did absolutely nothing to actually keep the hair back? Aesthetic?) before the corner of Agent Seven’s lips twitched up ever so slightly.

“Never heard that one before,” they drawled, “did you pick that up off the floor? You’re close enough to it.”

Ed opened his mouth; Al’s metal hand clapped over it with a resounding clang. 

“Thank you, Alphonse,” Mustang sent an unamused look Ed’s way before turning back to the caged canary they’d come to meet, “Agent Seven. I’ve heard a lot about you in the past hour and a half.”

“Only the bad things, I’m sure.” The agent moved away from the glass, perching themself on the back of a worn paisley sofa, bare toes just skimming the ground from their new position. “Contrarily, I’ve heard nothing at all about you. I’m going to guess a colonel, just from the uniform, but it’s been a little while since the military let me out to play so I may be a little rusty on the details.” They nodded downwards, towards Roy’s hips, “The silver chain says State Alchemist, as do the arrays on your gloves.” Glancing towards Ed again, their smile only widened, “Shortstack here as well; though I wasn’t aware they were teaching kindergarteners to murder civilians. Things really  _ have  _ changed.”

Ed’s outraged shriek was muffled against Al’s palm, but the message was received loud and clear as Agent Seven threw their head back and laughed. 

“Calm down, Shortcake,” they crossed their legs at the knee, the dark material of their skirt riding up to reveal the shorts underneath. 

As well as the bloody red tattoo on their thigh.

Al’s hand dropped back to his side and Ed realized that, in the face of vocal freedom, he had no idea what he wanted to say. For what was probably the first time in his life, The Fullmetal Alchemist was well and truly speechless.

He’d heard stories; but he’d thought that’s all they were. Conspiracy theorists spinning tales of artificial people with incredible powers and no regard for humanity. He and Al had formed their own opinion on the possibility long before they’d tried their own hand at human transmutation -- the long and short of it was that they were just myths. 

Stories told to replace the ones that had been lost in all of the hustle of the industrial revolution. They’d replaced rings of mushrooms with brands of blood and called it a day.

“A homunculus,” Fuery gasped.

“Homunculi don’t exist, Kain,” Falman snapped, but his eyes were on Agent Seven’s thigh all the same, “there are absolutely no records of them. Anywhere. Anything we know was told to us as a  _ story _ . A fairy tale.”

“ _ Faery _ ,” Al corrected quietly, metal fingers twitching against Ed’s at his side, “officer. They get mad if you don’t respect them.”

Behind the glass, Agent Seven laughed again, “Oh, man. I can’t wait to let my siblings know that we don’t exist. Tell me, soldier, if the building that holds your birth certificate were to burn down… would you burn up with it?” Their head tilted to the side, their lips curled in a way that almost felt genuine, if not at all comforting.

“I changed my mind,” they announced with a flourish, hopping down from their perch, “I think hanging out with you lot may just be entertaining. I’m --” 

_ Clap _ .

Ed surged towards the cell instinctively at the scream, only Mustang’s hand catching the collar of his coat and hauling him backwards again kept him from slamming right into the glass and transmuting it back into sand. 

All they had done was  _ clap _ . 

They clapped and the heavy, metal bracelets ( _ manacles _ , Ed realized too late) around their wrists ignited. Ed watched the electricity explode, watched the sparks travel up and over the agent’s arms, watched their skin  _ blacken _ , watched them hit the ground with a broken off wail. Even through the barrier, he could smell the charred flesh.

“What the hell!” He whirled towards the scientist, breaking free from Mustang’s grip, fury settling roiling and hot in the pit of his stomach until he felt like he could breathe fire; he was the only one to react. Everyone else seemed to be frozen in time. “They didn’t  _ do  _ anything!”

And the scientist, the amoral, sadistic fuck, had the gall to grin and point back towards the glass almost giddily, “ _ Watch _ !”

Ed turned back to the window, where the scientist was pointing, where the burns were puckering and pinking before smoothing out completely. Vanishing like they were never there in the first place. 

“What…” This time when he stepped forward, no one stopped him. He, himself, only stopped an inch short of pressing his nose directly against the glass, “ _ How _ ?”

Agent Seven looked up through the dark smudge of their lashes, their breath coming out in sharp pants, their hands clenched into fists on their thighs. They looked. Tired. For a moment. Before their lips curled into a sneer, “None of your  _ fucking  _ business, half pint--”

“Ed,” he interrupted, keeping the irritation (three fucking short jokes in as many minutes had to be a record even The Bastard hadn’t beaten yet) to a minimum “my name is Ed.”

Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, the agent just stared.

“Okay?” They said.

It was one of those moments in life where there were only three options, Ed figured; he could let the tears that had pricked behind his lids when the electricity started; he could turn back around and  _ burn the laboratory to the ground _ ; or he could laugh.

Option A would be showing weakness in front of: his whole unit (who knew by now that he had A Lot Of Emotions And They Sometimes Got The Best Of Him and that they should Not Comment On It, Ever.) The Scientist (who could get fucked) and Agent Seven, who contrary to everything Ed had seen, was considered armed and extremely dangerous (and he knew better than to judge a book by it’s cover or a person by their first impression).

Option B would result in far too many civilian casualties and his immediate arrest.

Option C just made him look a little like he was missing a screw or two in his brain.

The laugh that bubbled out was only slightly on the hysterical side and, without his express permission, Ed’s flesh hand reached up and pressed against the glass between himself and the agent on the floor -- it was cold as ice, “This is the part where you tell us your name,” he said.

“Oh,” Agent Seven sniffed and tossed their hair back off of their face, crossing their arms for good measure, “I knew that.” A pause. “Envy.”

“What’s an Envy?” Havoc whispered, or rather attempted his approximation of a whisper which tended to only be a notch or two lower than his regular speaking voice, which meant that it was basically useless and everyone in the room heard him anyways and just  _ give it up, Jean, honestly _ .

Agent Seven, Envy, clenched their teeth, “I’m an Envy, stupid. Now, are we going to get on with this or what? I wasn’t kidding, I’m in. Whatever you have going on that puts enough ants in the brass’ pants to pull me out of time out is bound to be a million times more interesting than rotting in this joint.”

Mustang’s smile was thin. It didn’t reach his eyes, “Very well. Fullmetal; away from the glass, please. Agent Seven must be fitted with their apparatus.” 

Envy’s face paled, “Still using that method, then,” they said at the same time Al asked “What apparatus?” with thinly veiled suspicion. 

Said suspicion was more than warranted. ‘The Apparatus” turned out to be little more than a technologically advanced medival torture device that was wired directly into Envy’s  _ spine _ , winding from the base of their neck to the small of their back and prepared to release certain chemical cocktails at the press of a button. 

And the ‘fitting’. Christ. There had been a machine; Ed had never seen anything quite like it. Shaped like an upside down V, with circular attachments on each foot. Needles, as long as Ed’s forearm lined the perimeter of each attachment. They’d had to get the chemicals into ‘The Agent” somehow, they’d said. 

Envy screamed the whole time.

Roy was given a remote and Ed was given a smack to the back of the head from Havoc when he’d opened his mouth to challenge his record of ‘most profanity screamed in one breath’. 

“If the agent should get out of hand at any time,” the cocksucker in the labcoat (he wasn’t a scientist -- he was a fucking sadist) was saying, somewhere off to the side, “the blue button will incapacitate. The red will, well, not  _ kill _ them. Not permanently, anyway.” 

_ Not permanently _ .

Fucking hell.

They acted like Ed's response to the whole thing was irrational. Well, excuse fucking him for having an averse reaction to seeing the government he _worked_ for committing gross human rights violations in the name of fake-ass science.

Their response, parroted atonally, was that Envy wasn't a human, so they didn't have rights. 

The whole thing made Al tense and the scar tissue on the tips of Ed's ears tingle. Who decided who got rights and who didn't? Why couldn't everyone just have rights? It wasn't cake -- giving someone else more rights would not take _away_ the rights of the people who already had them.

In some book at the bottom of a pile in Central's first library, there was a quote that had rankled Ed when he'd read it, and it did the same thing when he remembered it, watching Envy lean against the glass and try to catch their breath: " _S_ _haring the world had never been humanity's defining attribute"._

That, was how it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions or concerns? wanna roast me for quoting charles xavier like the xmen trash ive always been? pansexualorgana.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> and remember kids, follow the link up top to check out f_imagining's OG Homunculus Project fic because i'm in love with it and it fucking swept me back into a fandom i havent been in in like a d e c a d e (im old shut up)
> 
> and find my dumb ass on tumblr @ pansexualorgana
> 
> Title from Which Witch by Florence and The Machine


End file.
